


Small Flames Burn the Brightest

by ScribeOfReaper



Category: Final Fantasy XV, Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Ardyn Izunia Being Ardyn Izunia, Chocobros are confused, Fluff and Angst, Gen, It started with a bet, It's Ardyn, Saix and Axel's backstory, Tear Mark Tattoos Origin Story, There's a reason Organization XIII never went to Eos, mostly angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2020-10-06 23:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20515244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScribeOfReaper/pseuds/ScribeOfReaper
Summary: It was supposed to be a simple penalty game, but the emergance of a new Heartless changes that.





	1. Clockwork Heartless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ScribeOfRemedy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScribeOfRemedy/gifts).

> Prompt fill for Secret Shiva 2019.  
There is a small reference to a fic called Running Hot by ScribeOfRemedy. Not necessary to read it to have context for this fic, but still definitely worth a read.

“Remind me again how you managed to force me to agree to this?” Isa asks as he sidesteps an ice blast. The wooden platform of the Struggle ring creaks as he shifts his weight, swinging his Claymore forward for a counter.

“You lost the bet.” Lea calls, turning up the heat on the ring of flames that surrounds Isa and his opponents; a smirk playing at the edge of his lips as he watches the ice spell disintegrate into wisps of harmless steam. Yes, a flame barrier surrounding a wooden platform, what could possibly go wrong.

“Now you have to pay the penalty. Got it mem- “

“Don’t even start with that.” Isa hisses, cutting off Lea’s infuriating catch phrase. “Xion lost as well, so why isn’t she here fighting this horde alongside me?”

“Someone’s gotta fetch the ice cream to celebrate your victory, don’t they?” Lea shrugs as he kicks his feet up on the stone bench, stretching out like a lazy cat basking in a particularly strong pool of sunlight.

Isa valiantly ignores this as he brings down his Claymore once more, only to suppress a sigh as the Blue Rhapsody he is aiming for slips past his weapon.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t help him?” Roxas asks from where he sits on the bench next to Lea.

Isa does not raise an eyebrow at Roxas’ suggestion, though it is a near thing.

Too near if Lea’s sudden bark of laughter is anything to go by. “Help him? When we’re finally getting a small bit of payback for all the mission’s he dumped on us in our Organization days? Fat chance.”

“He was just doing his job, plus he was taking orders from Xemnas, wasn’t he?” The uncertainty is so clear in Roxas’ voice that Isa has no trouble picturing the small frown that’s probably creasing the boys’ brow. It’s an expression Isa saw all too often during the blondes first days under the moniker of Number XIII.

“Roxas, Roxas, Roxas.” Axel chides in an amused voice that sends a chill running down Isa’s spine, even as he blocks a sharp set of dark claws. “Though it may be true that our friend here was Norted, believe me when I tell you that the vindictive streak he sported as Saix was all Isa.”

“He wasn’t that vindictive, at least not all the time.” Isa would appreciate Roxas coming to his defence a lot more if the blonde didn’t sound so unsure.

In contrast, Lea’s voice is full of confidence as he snorts. “You forget, I knew him way before our Organization days. The amount of times I got into trouble beca-whoa behind you!” Isa has already seen the Neo Shadow rearing to attack, but the sentiment is noted. It won’t save Lea from his so-called vindictive side when he’s done with this battle though, nothing will, but still.

“Nice save! Anyway, as I was saying, believe me when I tell you that all those extra nasty missions and the huge quota’s we had to fill were all down to Isa. He’s always been a slave driver.”

Roxas falls quiet at that, allowing Isa to completely focus on the battle once more. Three Neo Shadows fall to his blade with one sweep. Clearing out the ground based Heartless that have been interfering with his limited arsenal of ranged attacks; his only effective tactic against his airborne nemeses’.

It should be easy, this entire farce of a penalty game he’s having to play should be easy, but it’s not. Each wave he destroys is replaced almost instantly by another. It’s frustrating, more than anything. The Heartless he’s facing aren’t particularly strong, there’s just so many of them.

“That’s it, he needs help.” Isa can see Roxas moving to stand, his arm already outstretched to summon his Keyblade. Only to be stopped when Lea sits up, casually draping an arm around Roxas’ shoulders.

“Whoa there Roxas, hold your horses.” Lea tuts, dragging his friend close and waving a finger at Roxas as one would a misbehaving child. “This is way too much fun and he’s had this coming for a while.”

“What could he have possibly done to earn this?” Isa is asking himself that same question.

“Wonderland. Slime. Orchid Heartless.”

There’s a beat of silence, filled only with the sound of dissipating Heartless.

Then, “good luck Isa!” Roxas calls as he sits back down.

Isa does not growl at the smirking blond, nor does he lop off an advancing Dusks head with too much force. He does however take a moment to observe that a few Nobodies have joined the fray, wonderful.

It’s getting to the point where he truly believes that things can’t possibly get any worse. How the universe just loves to prove him wrong.

From the centre of the struggle ring emerges a Heartless he’s never seen before. Hooded and small with dark colourings, at first glance he could almost mistake it for a Kage; were it not for the miniature Clock Tower strapped to its back. A Clock Tower that almost perfectly emulates Twilight Towns own peaceful monument, which even now stands watch from atop the hill.

The other Heartless seem to gather around the creature, forming a sort of honour guard as the Clock Tower Heartless charges an attack. Isa is not willing to give it the time.

He strikes out, almost blindly, planning to scatter the paltry defence that stands between him and his true target. It’s a tactic that’s proven itself time and again; though a Heartless’ instincts compel them to follow a strong Darkness they will always prioritize their own existence.

It’s for this reason that he’s caught off guard. Left standing, nearly frozen in shock when instead of dodging the Heartless throw themselves into his attack.

It’s more than enough to buy the Clock Tower Heartless the time it seems to need.

Swinging the miniature from its back the new Heartless slam’s the tower to the ground, sending out shockwaves as the twin bells chime a mournful tune. Never a good sign.

Having had enough of this as soon as it started, Isa is more than ready to finish this.

“Moon, shine down!” The cry echoes throughout the struggle plaza. Just as a light that nearly rivals his own aura surrounds the Tower Heartless.

Lost in the heady rush that always comes with his Berserker mode, Isa doesn’t care when the Heartless unleashes its attack. He doesn’t care that the flame ring that had kept him trapped has been deactivated, ever since this strange new enemy appeared. He does care when he feels strong warm fingers latching onto the back of his jacket. When familiar flaming red locks replace the vision of the dark orb of energy that had been heading straight towards him.

Lea falls without a cry as the attack meant for Isa slams into his chest, but his eyes are wide, shocked and confused, until they are not. Until they’re glazed and unfocused in a way that’s so unnatural, so not Lea, that it leaves Isa feeling cold.

They both hit the ground at the same time. Isa skidding back even as he digs his weapon into the wood of the temporary stage, while Lea crumbles; arms wrapped around his chest as though he’s trying to hold on to something already lost.

“Axel!” Roxas shouts from where he stands just behind Isa, fending off the remaining Heartless; the few that survived Isa’s reckless assault. Those too slow or too weak to escape, even though the barrier that had been responsible for keeping them there is gone.

The Clock Tower Heartless is neither. With an arrogant flip, Isa can only watch as the Heartless disappears. A flaming red orb clutched in its hand.

“Damn it!” The words leave him as a guttural snarl as he hurls his weapon at the place the Heartless has vanished. A useless gesture, one that gains him nothing.

“Sai-Isa.” Roxas stutters, his tone high and panicked as he reaches Lea’s side. Shaking hands latching onto his friends’ shoulders as Lea shrinks into himself.

Like this he almost looks to be the same height as Roxas…

“…” Isa stares, unable to process what he’s seeing, the logical part of his mind not wanting to believe it.

Lea continues to shake in Roxas’ hold as black wisps of dark energy engulf his form. He is struggling to breathe, each gasp of air laboured, strained to the point where it sounds painful.

“He needs an Esuna.” Roxas says as Isa takes a knee at Lea’s free side.

“It’s not a spell I ever thought to learn.” Why would he? Isa has never been focused on magic attacks, preferring to bombard his enemies with powerful strikes that overwhelm or simply destroy them outright.

It’s obvious that Roxas doesn’t know how to cast it either. The blonde may have moments of naivety that rival even Sora’s, but he would never leave a friend—especially Lea—in such a state if he could cure it.

“Does Xion know it?” He asks instead; resting his own hand on Lea’s back, trying to coax his friend into sitting up so he can better assess the damage.

“Do I know what? Wait! What’s going on! Axel?” Xion run’s from across the plaza; dropping the ice-cream’s she had been carrying as she rushes to their side.

Lea looks up at that, responding to the old name and Isa feels his blood freeze.

“Xion cast Esuna now!”

Even confused and concerned she doesn’t hesitate. “Esuna!”

The dark tendrils of energy are washed away by the warm light that suddenly surrounds Lea. He collapses the moment the light begins to dissipate, but both Isa and Roxas are there to catch him. They turn him so he’s on his back, not lying face down against the scarred wood of the stage, but that’s when they nearly drop him.

“Whoa!” Even over Roxas’ louder exclamation Isa can hear his own breath catching in his throat. Xion takes a step back, her hand rising to cover her mouth as she stares dumbfounded at the young man supported by her friends. It’s Axel, that’s for certain. Not Lea, Axel.

The sudden changes are startling.

He’s smaller, barely taller than Roxas. His hair is slightly shorter, but still set in that wild style he’s sported since he joined the Organization. He’s also wearing the Organization’s trademark Black trench coat. The same one he’d swore he would burn if he ever saw it again. Most importantly—to Isa at least—the tear drop tattoos are back; these more than anything have always marked the difference between Lea and Axel for him.

He shakes his head. In this moment he needs to focus on what he can do for his friend now, not dwell on what he couldn’t do in the past.

He goes back to analysing Axel’s condition; hoping to find some clue as to how to reverse…whatever this is.

It obviously can’t be classed as a status. If it could then Xion’s Esuna would have taken care of it. That being said it’s also true that Xion’s magic did have some sort of effect, as proven when the smothering mist that had been slowly engulfing Lea dispersed. Did that mean the dark energy had been a separate attack all together, or was it merely a by-product of the power which had de-aged, replaced, regressed? —Isa didn’t even know how to classify this. It wasn’t like any power he had seen before.

A soft groan draw’s Isa from his musings.

Axel is beginning to come around. A hand rising to massage his forehead, shielding his eyes as he tries to sit up. He isn’t left struggling alone for long; Roxas places a guiding hand on his shoulder and Xion soon comes to join him on Axel’s opposite side.

“What were you thinking? Are you okay?” Xion admonishes as she brushes away the light coating of dust that has settled on the dark leather of his coat.

Axel stills; his hand stiffening, causing fine lines to crease the smooth black surface of his gloves.

Xion and Roxas don’t seem to notice.

Isa only has just enough time to wrap his fingers in the collar of Xion’s shirt. The feather light touch of stray hairs brushes against his clenched fist as he pulls her back; throwing her clear of the blast as he raises his free hand in a pathetic attempt at defence.

He can feel the freshly born flames licking at his skin, clawing at his clothes, hungry and determined to devour anything in their path in order to ensure their own survival. Only for his vision to be flooded with refracted light in the form of a Reflega spell.

He looks back to see Xion crouching where he threw her. Arm outstretched towards him, glowing with the bright light of the magic that paints her fingertips. He watches as her eyes widen in concerned shock and he instinctively turns to follow her gaze, all the while trying to strangle the dread that’s rising in his throat.

The flicker of darkness he catches through the disintegrating shards of the Reflega shield has him rising to his feet; stumbling as he sacrifices balance for speed.

Even so, it’s not enough.

“Lea!” His hand falls through the fading wisps of darkness. Still, an instinctual chill that runs down his spine at the dark promise of power that those tendrils hold has him recoiling.

When he looks again all traces are gone. Only the ash of spent flames and the fresh scratches marring the once polished surface of the struggle ring, like so many open wounds, marks the passing of a battle lost.

“We have to go after him.” Roxas’ panicked voice draws Isa’s fraying attention. He stands on unsteady legs, one hand clenched closely to his side, the true extent of the injuries that may mar his skin hidden beneath a thick layer of soot. He fights to raise his Keyblade with his free arm, its shaft already alight with the cool green glow of a Cure spell.

Isa beats him to it; throwing a Hi-Potion over Roxas’ head as he passes the boy on his way to the Struggle Plazas exit.

He hears a stuttered gasp of relief and the hurried sound of footsteps catching up with him, but he doesn’t turn back.

“Isa! Where are you going?” Xion asks quietly as she catches up to him, her fingers reaching out to wrap a tentative grasp around his wrist. Roxas rushes to his other side; sweeping ash and dust from his ruined jacket, walking so close that his shoulder is almost brushing Isa’s arm. The plaintiff look in his eyes asking the question: what do we do?

Isa doesn’t pull away like he once would have. Instead he answers their questions.

“We’re going to find that Heartless. Then we’re going to find that flaming idiot and fix this.”

* * *

“Remind me again how you managed to convince me to get out of bed, to go for a walk in the pouring rain, at five o’clock in the morning?” Noctis asks as he attempts to sweep back the sodden strands of hair that have fallen into his eyes.

“Dude, come on, fair’s fair. You lost the bet, you gotta pay up.” Prompto teases in a lilting voice, as he casually slings an arm around Noctis’ shoulders. The unexpected extra weight nearly causes Noct to stumble as his sleep weary mind undercompensates on the rough ground beneath their feet, but he catches himself. It doesn’t stop him from sending a glare Prompto’s way; one his friend just shrugs off with a sunny smile.

“You won’t be smiling for long if a Daemon decides that pre-dawn still counts as night when there’s this much cloud cover.” He watches from the corner of his eye as Prompto stiffens, feeling the muscles in his friends’ arm—still wrapped around his shoulder—go taut as his eyes dart back and forth across the darkened landscape.

Seeing nothing, Prompto eventually manages a breathy chuckle, “nah, there’s no way they’ll pop out now…right?”

“Right.” Noct confirms, voice more assured, as he lightly digs his elbow into Prompto’s side. Encouraging his friend to finally remove his arm.

Free, Noct stretches; slowly working out the kink that sits heavily between his shoulders. He’ll have to try and convince Ignis that the lure of actual beds is worth the blow their funds will take. A hard task, considering the tight hold his Advisor has had on their purse strings lately. However, the thought of spending another night laid out against the hard rock of a Haven, with only the thin layer of his sleeping bag acting as a barrier…he won’t allow it. His lower back twinges in agreement.

“Ah! There’s one!” Prompto’s shout draws his attention.

He watches as the blonde disappears behind a bush, only to emerge seconds later; a light covering of wet mud clinging to his fingers and the hallowed prize he has grasped in his hand.

“A Mushroom? Do not say you’ve just come up with a new Recipeh.” Noctis sighs in resignation as he pinches the bridge of his nose; already dreading Prompto’s undoubtedly corny reply.

“What? No, no, nothing like that,” Prompto denies, waving his arms dramatically and nearly splattering Noct with mud. “Then again…”

“Prompto.”

“Okay, okay, chill dude.” Prompto chuckles, “this is our prized bait. I’ve heard that the Catoblepas are mad for these, just a few more of them and we should be able to draw one in.”

“Draw one in?” Noct’s voice holds a deadpan edge which Prompto spectacularly fails to catch.

“Yeah! It’ll make for an epic shot, especially if we make it to the lake just as the sun’s rising.”

“You better be about to hand me your camera.” Noct extends his hand, palm up, to emphasise his point.

Prompto just stares at him, a sheepish grin creeping at the edges of his lips. “Well, actually—”

“No.” Noct interrupts, flinging his arms up in frustration, “not happening.”

He turns sharply on his heel, starting to make his way back up the path they’d trodden through the soaked undergrowth.

“Oh, come on Noct! Please!” Prompto jogs to catch up to him, his footsteps rushed and uneven as he struggles not to slip. “This is the one chance I’m gonna get to take this shot! You can warp so there’s no wa-aah!”

Noct halts abruptly, spinning round at the sound of his friends cry so quickly that he nearly falls. Loose stone and soft mud shifting beneath his boots at such an odd angle that he almost loses his footing.

“Prompto!” His eyes search the tree line desperately. He’d been kidding about the Daemons, but now that he thinks about it seriously, maybe the cloud cover has made them braver.

Against his will his mind conjures up several unwelcome memories. Imps with sharp claws and bright eyes; dancing in between and around dull shafts of sunlight in the cloying darkness of a mine. The Ronin standing tall within the shadows, safe from the pool of light. Iron Giants lurking beneath rocky outcroppings, their swords tensed to strike.

Panic hits him like a physical blow. Its overwhelming his senses; causing the shadows of trees to morph and shift into the shape of Daemons. Turning the lightest tremble of wind over dew-soaked pine branches into the eerie sound of scourge stained chittering rasps.

“Prompto!” He takes a step as he calls out his friends name again. “If this is some sort of prank, I swear I’m gonna—”

“Dude down here,” Noct’s threat dies in his throat at Prompto’s shout. He Zero’s in on his friends’ voice; catching a flash of blond hair against the backdrop of the many shades of green that paint the small woodland. “I need some help.”

Choosing to forego the steep hill which separates him from Prompto, Noct summons a blade. With a well-practiced flick, the weapon flies from his grasp. He’s warping even before the blade sinks itself into the hard wood of the wide tree that stands just behind where Prompto sits, crouched on the ground.

“Are you hurt?” He’s already looking Prompto over for injuries when he asks, but there’s nothing he can see.

“Oh, no dude, not me.” Prompto shakes his head firmly, before nodding down to a hunched figure curled up on the ground beside him. “He’s in really bad shape.”

Now that he’s not so focused on making sure Prompto is in fact okay and not just playing down his wounds—as he so often does—Noct allows his attention to drift to the young man Prompto is worriedly hovering over.

Noct is shocked that he hadn’t spotted the teen immediately. Even with the thick layers of dirt and something that Noct hopes is not fresh blood, the young man’s hair stands out stark against the morning shadows. A fiery red that seems alive as the wind sweeps through it.

Looking further Noct can see that Prompto’s assessment is true; the kid really is in bad shape. What looks to have once been a leather jacket now lies in ragged remnants which barely cling to the boys’ frame. Underneath the ruined clothing rests abused skin, which is already beginning to discolour with a collection of mottled bruises. Nothing else can be seen under the cover of mud and dirt, made all the darker with the freely flowing blood from a set of nasty lacerations that run the length of the teens exposed left arm.

“I already gave him a potion, but it only took care of this massive cut he had across his chest.” Prompto indicates a large tear in the boys’ jacket that’s coated in quickly cooling blood, causing the fabric of his mostly intact shirt—which might have once been black like his jacket, but now looks to be a rusted shade of red in the weak morning light—to stick to his skin.

“We’ll have to get him back to the Haven. Have Specs take a look at him.” Noct replies, knowing without even having to check the armiger that he doesn’t have anything stronger than a potion. “Do you think it’s safe to move him?”

Prompto scratches the back of his head nervously, clearly unsure. “I don’t know, but if we leave him out here, he probably doesn’t stand a chance.”

Noct nods, weighing up their limited options. “What if one of us stays here; keeps an eye on him and makes sure none of the local wildlife tries to take advantage?”

“That could work, you’ll be faster with your ability to warp.” Prompto summons his gun and quickly checks the chamber; seemingly satisfied he turns back to Noct. “If anything goes wrong, I’ll send up a Starshell.”

“Right, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Without another word Noct picks up the dagger which is still lodged firmly in the bark of the tree. He can’t suppress the small grimace at the sight of sticky tree sap clinging to the blade, but he quickly brushes that idle thought away as he aims.

He already knows that every warp will count; he’s going to have to balance distance and speed if he wants to avoid going into stasis. Taking a deep breath, he throws the dagger and all at once the world shatters into azure light.


	2. Endless Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Axel is having a bad day...a very bad day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo, what was meant to be a one-shot has become a multi chaptered Heartless. How many chapters will this be? Undecided, however I will do my best to update every other month.  
Mainly writing this just for fun but I hope to get some good character developement in this.  
As in the first chapter you may blame ScribeOfRemedy for this.

Endless darkness.

He is used to seeing that, given his preferred mode of transport. Corridors of Darkness, creepy as they are, he’s gotta admit practically being able to teleport himself almost anywhere is nice.

Endless darkness, yellow eyes, sharp claws, and the chilling void of the abyss where the streets of The World That Never Was should be. Not so nice.

The moment he steps through the corridor he created in Twilight Town; he knows he’s made a mistake.

Darkness that once came at his call like a loyal dog bristles and struggles against his control. Each moment spent here saps away a little more of his strength and even with his Organization coat he can feel the darkness seeping in, searching for a heart he no longer has.

He stumbles as he exits the corridor, then completely loses his footing as his boot catches on something unseen. Soft dirt chokes him as he gasps in pain and it’s wrong, so wrong. He should have landed on the solid concrete of the damp streets of the World That Never Was.

Blinking unfocused eyes to try and get his bearings does little. Even as his vision clears all he can see is the many shifting shadows of the Realm of Darkness.

Fear—no, the memory of fear he reminds himself, he no longer has the heart needed to feel fear—grips his throat as he stands.

He summons his Chakrams—foregoing his usual dramatic flair—the slight heat that radiates from them warming his palms as he adjusts his grip. They chase away the memory of fear as he raises one to see further into the darkness.

Ochre eyes stare back at him.

Blinking against the light, Axel shrugs as he shakes off the cold tendrils clinging to his coat and takes a step forward. There’s no sign of any real danger; it seems he’s on the outer edges of the Realm of Darkness, that dreary precipice of blackness that likes to float ominously around the limits of nonexistence.

This, however, left one question. “How the heck did I wind up here?”

His query goes unanswered as the Heartless slink around the pool of light cast by his flames.

Ignoring them he stretches out an arm to summon another Corridor of Darkness. It’s obvious he simply made a mistake.

Not that he’ll tell Saix that, or tell Saix about being seen, or that he had passed out, or about the fact that he can’t really remember what he was doing in Twilight Town in the first place…

…come to think of it, maybe it’s best that nobody hears about this, ever.

Yep, that’s for the best. This is definitely one mission he does not want memorized.

Corridor formed, he dismisses his Chakrams and eagerly walks through the gaping vortex of darkness before him.

He exits the other side and freezes.

An endless darkness, yellow eyes, sharp claws, and a deep chill are all that greet him.

“What the hel-agh!”

He flinches back as one of the shadows leaps forward, dark talons raking across his upraised arm as the shade manifests in the form of a Neoshadow.

He grits his teeth as he suppresses his cry, but it’s too late. He doesn’t even have time to assess the damage as more Heartless slink from the darkness. Swords held in hand with stunted and frayed wings, which somehow still manage to keep them aloft: Orcus’.

“Hey guys, you’re a bit more worked up than usual. What? Has Xemnas not been feeding you or something?” He wasn’t expecting a reply but that doesn’t mean he appreciates the shadowed blade that comes flying towards his head.

“Hey! I’m meant to be the hot head here!” Fire erupts as his Chakrams fly, covering his retreat to the corridor that still lays open behind him.

He doesn’t get far, not with the pool of darkness he hadn’t noticed suddenly smothering his flames, choking the once towering pillars of fire down to nothing more than a few wisps of smoke.

Normally, this would be nothing to worry about, but then again normally he wasn’t on his own, surrounded by ever-growing-numbers of apparently underfed Heartless that he has absolutely no control over. Oh yeah, and he isn’t trapped in the Realm of Darkness, but this is his life now so there’s only one sensible thing to do.

Throw more fire and don’t look back.

As sound a strategy as that is, there isn’t much he can do against the horde of Heartless that begin to tumble free from the still open Corridor of Darkness behind him. At least not while he’s still dealing with the ever-multiplying Orcus and Neoshadow army before him. Oh, and is that a Darkside he sees clawing its way out of the bubbling puddle of shadows…

Welp, he’s done.

Dismissing the suicide track he likes to call his previous escape route, Axel reaches out to summon another, but because that worked so well last time, he throws up a fire wall between him and the literally unending horde just to be safe.

The near blinding wall of flames encircles him, driving back the heartless for a moment as many of them sink back into the floor.

“What? Is that all you got?” He taunts as he raises a hand to summon a new corridor, only to cringe as a sharp pain lances up the length of his arm. His eyes are finally drawn to the deep gouges that have been carved into his skin, leaving the leather of his coat hanging in strips and his blood dripping to the floor.

“That’s new.” Axel cradles his arm against his chest in an attempt to slow the bleeding as he raises his free hand. Thinking that it’s probably best he deals with his injury in a place that you know, isn’t home to a bunch of literal monsters.

The barest threads of darkness begin to weave together to form his escape, just as the ground beneath him starts to shake. Distracted, Axel loses his tenuous grasp on the dark power, which still seems to be struggling against his control. Is it an effect of this Realm? He doesn’t know and he doesn’t have time to think about it as his shaky footing completely gives way.

Scrambling, he manages to latch onto the edge of the sudden precipice, his nails digging into the soft dirt even as he continues to sink. Yes, sink.

Into the giant hole of darkness that conveniently—yes, that’s sarcasm—decided to open beneath his feet.

Dragging himself free was never an option, but it becomes truly impossible when the incorporeal vines of darkness wrap themselves around his arm. Even so he fights it, pouring strength into his waning grip as the shadows continue to pull him down.

He loses his fight when the ground he clings to simply gives way. Enveloped within the pool of Darkness he drowns for long seconds, his lungs torn apart by the weight of a formless shade that rips and tears at him even as he falls.

Everything stops as he hits solid ground again, but he feels something give in a way it shouldn’t.

Dazed, in pain, and more than a little confused he tries to push himself back to his feet, knowing that every moment spent lying in the dirt is another chance he has of defending himself lost.

He manages to get to his knees, but something shifts in his chest and the gasp of pain that follows has him curling involuntarily in on himself. His lungs feel like they’re on fire, every shallow breath hurts but he knows he has to move, he has to get up.

That decision is taken from him with the descent of one hand.

Talons the size of columns close around him. The air is crushed from his lungs, silencing his roar of pain, even as a darkness that doesn’t belong to this realm dances along the edges of his vision.

The flames he can feel sparking to life along the lines of his one free arm burn with an eclipsed light, one he is barely able to see dancing along the edges of the remnants of his shredded coat.

Still he calls to them, urging them to burn brighter as the grip around his middle tightens.

He can feel the flames growing, sense them feeding off his magic with an endless appetite that breeds recklessness. Still he holds back his attack, knowing that were he to unleash it now it would barely be more powerful than a simple Firaga. Fun spell, but not strong enough to take down a Darkside in a single hit; he knows this from experience…painful experience.

The pressure that has been slowly intensifying around his chest suddenly increases, what was once a steadily constricting grip is now a crushing force. It robs him of the last of his waning control, the choice of when to release the scorching torrent raging within his being is taken from him.

His nerves sing as they are set alight by the wild flames that rise around him. His vision once washed black is now blazing back to life with a red that sets his world on fire.

The hand holding him disappears from his perception, whether it dissolves or the Darkside dropped him doesn’t matter. All that matters is the rush of air as he tumbles to the ground in a tangle of exhausted limbs.

He comes to rest uneasily on his side, the only sounds are his ragged breaths and the thunderous beat of his own pulse echoing in his ears. Even so, he doesn’t hesitate this time.

Summoning what feels like the last of his strength, he focuses on calling a Corridor of Darkness. Not to the World That Never Was; for whatever reason that isn’t working. No, he opens a connection to the closest world that still possesses light, he’s not even sure which world it is—Twilight Town again? He doesn’t know—he doesn’t care, so long as it isn’t here.

When it finally forms, he all but falls into the corridor. Some impassive part of his brain that sounds suspiciously like Saix tells him that he’s just going to fall face first into the cold ash of the Realm of Darkness again.

The voice is half right; he does fall face first onto the ground, but instead of the yawning abyss of darkness the smell of fresh rain, the feel of soft grass beneath him, and a distant dawn shielded by laden clouds greets him.

“Heh, made it.” The words are little more than a whispered slur mumbled into the dirt, but they take the last of his strength and with it his final grasp on consciousness.

* * *

Sensations and sounds come to him in dribs and drabs.

The feeling of light rain landing on his bare skin, flowing into his open wounds with a haze of trickling pain that washes away all warmth.

A gentle wind lingering to brush through his hair as it meanders across the land, whispering soft words he can’t understand through the trees.

Dew wet grass presses against his fingers in a gentle caress, only to be replaced with the overwhelming pain that burns through every nerve.

Most prevalent is the smell of blood, the iron rich tang that leaves him with the taste of copper covering his tongue.

Each of these fractured scenes come to him in-between almost comforting periods of oblivion. Immeasurable periods of time in which he is free of the burning cold that seems to have seized his limbs.

The borders of this peaceful abyss of insensibility is where the voices are most clear.

“Isa? Is that my…”

“If this is some sort of prank, I swear I’m gonna—”

“It’s just a bet Isa, no need to get all fired up about it.”

“Dude down here…I need some help.”

“You’re crying again.”

“I already gave hi…ut it only took care of…he had across his chest.”

“…on cast Esuna now!”

“It’s the charm s… can’t cry, you’ll mak…liar.”

The voices all sound far away, but he can recognise a few of them, but he’s too tired to figure out which ones.

It’s the press of a hand against his forehead that convinces him to try and wake up. The peel of dried blood tangled in his lashes has him blinking disorientedly. Through blurred vision all he can make out is a flash of blonde against the backdrop of dark green that is probably the woods he’s landed in.

“Hey, are you awake?” A high-pitched voice he doesn’t know asks. There’s the briefest moment where he smiles because yep, Saix is gonna kill him for not blowing his cover not once but twice. Then the pull of sore muscles reminds him that moving anything at the moment is just not worth it.

“…ay awake, help is on the way.” Axel blinks slowly at that. He is awake, even though his eyes are closed again…wait, when did that happen?

A hand rests against his shoulder and Axel feels an aborted shake.

“Sorry, sorry, my bad.” If he doesn’t die of blood loss, he swears he’s gonna set this kid on fire. It’s a mercy compared to the agony that just shot through his entire body. Ripples of pain irradiating out from his shoulder, stealing all his focus.

His eyes close again and this time he can’t fight the wave of fatigue clawing at his beaten body.

* * *

“Ye cannee blame me lad. I’m a businessman, and no merchant worth his salt is gonna lend out his ship fer free.” There’s a glint in the old ducks’ eye that’s giving Roxas a headache.

“I already said we’d be willing to pay.” Roxas groans as he tries and fails to stop his hand from mussing through his hair. A nervous tell that has made him lose more than one poker game—seriously, he’ll never forgive Isa for introducing Xion to that game.

“Och, I make more than enough munney from this fine establishment.” Scrooge gestures to the restaurant behind him, pride written in every line of his body. “What I’m askin fer is much more valuable.”

“What is it that you want?” Already suspicious Roxas crosses his arms, trying to look unmoved.

“Pah, tis a trifle.” Scrooge turns away, trying to hide the unscrupulous smile that’s curling his lips. “I donne suppose ye ever heard of the deal I had with young Sora?”

Roxas feels a slight twinge of sadness at the mention of Sora, but he shakes it off. Riku and Kairi will bring him back.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Tis the easiest thing in the world me boy, and if you were willing to do me this small favour, I’d be more than willing to lend you and yur friends the use of me Gummi Ship.” Scrooge already knows he’s won and to be honest Roxas is too worried to fight him.

That said, he’s not so naïve that he’s going to accept the job without first knowing what it is. “What favour?”

Smiling unrepentantly Scrooge explains, “just bring me some new ingredients from whichever worlds ye and yer friends visit.”

Roxas blinks in confusion. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” Scrooge nods.

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth Roxas sticks out his hand. “Deal.”

“Pleasure doin’ business with ye laddie.” Scrooge shakes his hand firmly. “Just let me know when you’re ready to embark.”

Stunned that it was that easy, Roxas nods before he runs towards Station Hill, where he’d last seen Xion and Isa. He needs to give them the good news.

Just as he’s wondering how he’s going to find them the roar of an explosion and a plume of smoke rises above the rooftops.

“That’ll be them.”


	3. Morning Haven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of a faster update, hopefully I can keep this pace going.  
Want to take a moment to thank ScribeOfRemedy for being my Beta, she is a saint!  
Please enjoy!  
In other words: Suffer!!!!

Morning Haven

Ignis stirs, as he does every morning, at precisely six o’clock. Sitting up, he locates his glasses just as the alarm begins to vibrate with a series of sharp trills that are supposed to awaken his companions, though more often than not they simply end up as the backdrop to his, Gladio’s, and Prompto’s efforts to wake Noct.

For once though, it would seem that he has been relieved of his duty of trying to make his liege rise before eleven. The two bed rolls beside his and Gladio’s lay empty, the only signs left of their previous occupants is the way they sit carelessly abandoned against the side of the tent. How he had slept through the chaotic debacle that must have been the two of them trying to escape their sleeping bags he shall never know.

If he recalls correctly Prompto had warned him last night that he would be attempting to enlist Noct’s help with an, as Prompto put it: ‘epic photo opportunity’. It would seem that the budding photographer has been successful—a note-worthy achievement, given Noct’s apparent aversion to dawn.

Just to be sure Ignis pulls out his phone, checking for any new messages. The screen lights up at his gentle prompt, revealing that he does in fact have a message from Prompto:

**Prompto:** Mission Catoblepas is a go! Be back for breakfast. :D

Ignis highly doubts that, given Noct and Prompto’s track record for keeping time. In all likelihood he’s probably going to have to send Gladio to retrieve them if they want to make any progress today.

That being said, he’s never one to be caught unprepared. He’s more than willing to make use of the extra time he’s found himself with.

The sound of shifting fabric draws his attention back to the last bed roll. Unlike the others, Gladio has the presence of mind to roll up his sleeping bag. “Morning specs,” he briefly glances at the empty expanse of the tent, “Prompto actually managed to convince sleeping beauty to get up before noon?”

“I believe there may have been some guilt tripping involved,” Ignis answers as he removes his culinary journal, all the while mentally cataloguing what ingredients he has to hand, “either that or a lost bet.”

Gladio scoffs as he moves towards the exit. “Noct should know by now not to try and beat Prompto at a game of chance.”

Ignis refrains from mentioning that it’s a lesson Gladio himself has yet to learn. “Indeed.”

Gladio pulls back the tent flap, only to be greeted with the sight of heavy rain. “Does this place ever see the sun?” He growls as he steps out, stretching as he goes.

“Periodically,” Ignis comments as he follows, “though it would appear we keep missing it.”

Gladio doesn’t dignify that with a response as he summons the shelter from the armiger and sets about pitching it, so Ignis can get started on breakfast.

All in all, despite the weather, its looking to be one of those rare days where Ignis will be able to slow the pace. There’s no desperate need to make their way back to Cape Caem, not with the mythril still being processed, and if he recalls correctly there are several fishing spots located within walking distance. Noct would never forgive him were he remiss in pointing out that fact.

With his and Gladio’s combined efforts the shelter is assembled within moments and the cooking station is soon summoned, accompanied by the ingredients Ignis will be requiring this morning.

“What we having this morning?” Gladio enquires idly, as he continues stretching. His gaze flitting intermittently between the grey sky above and the dirt track that lays just beyond the runes of the haven.

Inspecting his pan, Ignis quickly organises his station before he answers. “Pancakes. A simple meal, but I found myself inspired by a posting I saw for a Tenebraen recipe.”

“Heh, that answers that question then, no way I’m going on a run now.” Gladio emphasises that point by summoning one of the camp chairs.

The sight makes Ignis pause. “Really?”

“Last time you made pancakes there wasn’t a scrap left. I had to settle for a microwaved pop-tart.”

Ignis can’t help but raise a brow. “My sympathies, I’ll endeavour to make extras.”

Whatever reply Gladio had been about to voice is cut off by the appearance of a dagger flitting past their sights. Ignis tracks the blades progress to where it’s going to land, only to watch as Noct snatches it from the air as he manifests in a trail of fractured sparks.

Any thought that this had merely been Noct’s attempt to reach the haven before Prompto dissipates the moment he truly looks at Noct.

Half bent, very nearly on the cusp of stasis, his hair plastered to his forehead with both rainwater and fresh mud, and breath that catches on every second gasp as he fights to regain enough air to speak.

Ignis is by his side in an instant, his hand coming gently to rest between Noct’s shoulder blades as he guides his charge down. Directing him towards the ground in an attempt to ease the onset of vertigo that is sure to come.

“Where is Prompto?” He asks the question calmly, even as his worry builds at the continued absence of their youngest member.

“Safe.” It’s the first word that Noct manages to breathe and Ignis is glad for it. Already, the concern that had gripped him on Prompto’s behalf wanes, but that still leaves the question as to why Noct would push himself to this state.

He gives Noct a few more minutes, in order to gather himself, but Ignis can see Gladio from the corner of his eye, pacing along the barrier of the haven. It won’t be long before the Shield takes matters into his own hands and disappears off into the underbrush in search of Prompto.

Patience once more proves itself to be the wiser path as Noct finds his feet, giving his head a final shake as he stands tall, his eyes trained on the outlying trees and the darker depths beyond. “Sorry,” Noct mumbles sheepishly, “but there’s a wounded kid. Prompto’s watching him.”

“What direction?” Gladio asks, body tense as he gets ready to run.

“About half a mile south,” Noct gestures in the general direction, “close to the lake.”

Gladio nods, “On it. Iggy?”

“Right behind you.” He places a hand on Noct’s shoulder, tilting his head slightly in the Crownsguard language for ‘I’ll stay with Noct’.

Another nod and then Gladio is soon vanishing beyond the thin treeline.

Ignis and Noct soon follow at a more sedate pace.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Ignis cannot help but ask.

“Never better,” comes the immediate reply. Ignis ignores the strain that weighs down Noct’s voice, for now.

*~*~*~*~

Pulling the last bandage tight, Ignis inspects his work one last time as he moves to sit back.

The young man laid out before him has certainly seen better days, but at least he’s still breathing. Thanks in no small part to Noct and Prompto’s quick actions. Both of whom have been banished from the tent, due to their ability to be more of a hindrance than a help.

Yes, having the four of them to transport the boy back to the haven had made things easier. Especially when considering the rough terrain, however, having all four of them in the tent, them asking needless questions, and offering help that is clearly unneeded when Ignis has the situation perfectly in hand…

That he could do without.

Hence why he had less than graciously advised them to bloody well leave him to his work.

He can still heat the murmur of their conversation beyond the zipped entrance; quiet against the gentle patter of retreating rain, but it’s less distracting than having them underfoot.

A small pained groan draws his attention back to the teen. Ignis can’t help but wish he knew the boys’ name, or for that matter anything about him. He hadn’t found any sort of I.D. on the young man’s person but given his condition and apparent lack of supplies, Ignis was leaning towards the theory that the lad may be a refugee. One of the few that had managed to make it out of Insomnia during the fall.

If this is the case how he had managed to make it out here, why he had not sought refuge in one of the many towns between this region and Insomnia, and how he had ended up in this state remains a mystery. One that will not be solved until the young man awakens.

In the meantime, all Ignis can do is make him comfortable. A task made harder by the fact that Prompto has already used their last potion on him.

It was an oversight on Ignis’ part, but one that couldn’t have been avoided, not with the Quetzalcoatl they had encountered in the last dungeon.

Still, they will have to resupply soon if the teen has any hope of a full recovery.

Another soft groan from the young man breaks the relative silence, this time accompanied by a swift turn of the boy’s head. “…ix.”

“Hello, can you hear me?” Ignis asks as he rests a hand on the boys left shoulder, on a sparse span of skin that isn’t mottled with bruises.

He can see the young man’s eyes rolling wildly below his closed eyes; most likely tracking the haunting visions conjured by the high fever that burns through him.

Ignis tries again, “Are you awake? Can you tell me your name?”

The teen’s eyes open slightly, revealing the briefest flash of fever muddled green before he settles once more.

With a sigh Ignis resigns himself to the fact that answers are going to have to wait.

Standing and repressing the wince that comes with movement after so long spent kneeling at the boys’ side, Ignis walks towards the exit. Brushing aside the tent flap, he is greeted by the sight of Noct and Prompto hovering over his now lit stove.

“What, pray tell, are you doing?”

Prompto jolts at the sound of his voice, sending the spoon he had been using to prod what might have once been garula bacon—but now resembles charcoal—flying. “Iggy.”

With deft reflexes and a practised hand Ignis catches the spoon before it can spin off into the undergrowth and be lost, like so many of its brethren before it.

“Making a burnt offering to the Astrals, are we?” Ignis observes with dry humour. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid I have to inform you that those went out of favour around the time the Infernian turned against humanity.”

“What? Oh, no, no. I’m really sorry Iggy, I was only trying to help,” Prompto stammers as he grimaces at the crumbling mess in the pan. “I thought a higher heat would make it cook faster.”

“Well that idea certainly didn’t pan out.”

“Can you please just not, Specs,” Noct all but begs, setting down the bowl he’d been stirring gently. “The corny jokes are really getting old.”

“Really? I thought that one was rather well-done.”

Noct groans, bringing up a hand to massage his brow, while Prompto tries—and fails—to hide a nervous laugh born more from Noct’s reaction than Ignis’ pun. “Seriously Iggy, I am this close to making a royal decree that bad puns are banned.”

“A tad excessive, don’t you think?” Ignis defends as he adjusts his glasses, using the long-time habit to hide his growing smirk.

The long-suffering glare that Noct levels at him in response nearly has Ignis laughing without restraint.

It’s the sudden whine of metal against metal which breaks the growing air of mirth. Both Ignis’ and Noct’s gazes shift back to Prompto, who now stands at the edge of the haven, valiantly trying to scrape the cremated remains of the bacon into a nearby shrub.

He freezes the moment the horrible screech of metal shrieks against the white rock of the haven; only turning back to them with a less than confident look when the sound finally fades. “S-sorry.”

Giving into the urge that has been building at the back of his throat, Ignis chuckles.

“It’s quite alright, Prompto,” Ignis soothes, getting his amusement back under control as he suggests, “perhaps you wouldn’t mind looking after our guest while I finish up here.” He nods back to the tent, where he is sure their unexpected visitor is still lying comatose.

Prompto’s face falls at the request, his eyes turning downwards as his teeth begin to worry his bottom lip. “Oh, yeah sure.”

By now, Ignis is well acquainted with Prompto’s bouts of uncertainty—though they are rarer than they once were—when he believes he has done something wrong. As such, he is more than prepared for it.

Looking back at the tent, he allows some of his concern to seep into his voice, “I’m afraid he isn’t doing too well…” pausing for dramatic effect, Ignis waits until he’s sure he has Prompto’s full attention. “…I would ask Noct to do it, were I not certain his Highness would fall asleep on the job.”

“Hey!” Comes Noct’s affronted shout from where he still standing next to the stove.

Ignis ignores him.

It takes a second, but the sunny demeanour that Prompto wears like a cloak slowly returns. “Heh, sure thing, Iggy.” With that the blonde disappears inside the tent, allowing Ignis to turn his full attention on his main charge.

Noct has picked up the bowl he had previously set down and to Ignis surprised delight is actually handling the ingredients with some care, as opposed to the usual slap dash approach he is well aware Noct favours.

“Awake at dawn and now you’re cooking, will wonders never cease.”

“They might if you don’t tone down the sass.”

Looking over Noct’s shoulder to check his progress and satisfied with what he sees Ignis feels it’s safe enough to chance fetching himself an Ebony while Noct continues.

“Besides, you had your hands full this morning.”

“Indeed.” Ignis can’t stop his gaze from drifting back to the tent at those words.

“How’s he doing?” Noct asks.

“A lot better than he would have been had you and Prompto not found him, but he’s not out of the woods yet.” He only receives an eye-roll for that one.

“So, what’s the plan then?”

“Acquiring more curatives should be our priority but I fear it might not be the safest option to chance moving the boy yet.” Another glance over Noct’s shoulder and he’s handing the milk to him.

“Thanks. So, what? We just wait until he wakes up?”

“Perhaps. I believe that batter’s about done.” Ignis allows himself one quick sip of the ebony, enjoying the familiar bitter taste as it flows across his tongue. “I’d say we’re about ready to fire things up.”

“Seriously, Spe—”

Whatever Noct was about to say went unheard as the roar of flames consumed the haven.


	4. Shattered Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fire. Lots and lots of fire and it's not Axel's fault for once...well, most of it isn't

Xion has had doubts about Isa’s plans before. By that she doesn’t mean that he’s disorganized or unprepared, no she’s sure he goes over every detail of his strategies with the same merciless efficiency he used to go over her reports. The number of times she wanted to cry when he told her to redo them because he found a mistake…she shivers at the mere memory of it. No, what makes her less than enthusiastic to follow him into the heat of battle is the fact that he never seems to see the need to explain to anybody what exactly his plan is.

Usually this would be balanced by the fact that Ax-Lea—Lea, it’s Lea now, she really needs to stop doing that—is there to translate Isa’s irritated growls and exasperated sighs, as though it’s her fault she doesn’t speak the silent language that Lea is apparently fluent in.

For obvious reasons that isn’t an option right now, which is bad, really, really bad, because Isa isn’t a team player unless A-Lea is there and it’s really showing.

Things started going south the second they cornered the heartless and just got worse from there.

It seems that all she’s been able to do since the fight started is block. Not fun in a normal fight, super not fun when you’re up against an overpowered heartless that’s stolen your friend’s powers and is using said powers to try and charbroil you.

Especially when said heartless doesn’t seem to have any of your friend’s self-control—words she never thought she would think in regard to Axe-Lea dammit, and fire—so is apparently happy to set everything in reach on fire. After this is over, they’re going to have to get so many part-time jobs to pay off all the collateral damage, that is, if the town is still standing.

It might not be, given that the heartless is currently hopping higher and higher along the sheer face of Twilight Town’s clocktower, throwing fire every which way each time it lands, leaving black soot trails that track its progress all along the tower of the clock. From down here it looks as though a behemoth with dirty paws has tried to scramble up the side of the tower.

The next torrent of flame rains down upon them as the heartless reaches the face of the clock. Throwing another barrier over herself and Isa she turns to face her friend to try and glean any information from his eternally expressionless face—well actually, that’s a little unfair, she thinks she’s seen him smiling…once—only to find that he’s gone.

Looking around she spots him running up the side of the tower to the left of the heartless, an achievement all itself considering that his dark clothes are just blending into the swirling clouds of smoke.

Now what does she do? Does she follow? Try and distract the heartless? Attack it from the ground? Any one of those ideas could backfire horribly, depending on what Isa does.

The sound of hurried footsteps running up the hill behind her puts her somewhat at ease, it must be Roxas coming to help.

“Great timing Roxas, I need some cover.” She calls over her shoulder as she runs for the wall.

“I’m not Roxas, but you got it!” A voice that most definitely isn’t Roxas’ responds.

Digging her heels in she stops and manages to turn fully only to see Hayner running past her straight towards the base of the station tower. What is he thinking!

“Wait!”

Too late.

Predictably, Hayner’s charge ends in failure. Fiery, smoke everywhere, screaming failure.

Xion shoots her lowest powered water spell at him as she rushes to his side. He didn’t take a direct hit but it’s better safe than sorry, so she casts cure just to be certain. Even so he’s still coughing, whether from the smoke inhalation or the sudden spout of water she dumped over his head she isn’t sure.

“Are you okay?”

Before he can answer her question the sound of yet more footsteps approach them from behind, made all the louder by the thin veil of water that still covers the ground around them.

“Hayner, what were you thinking?” Olette scolds with absolutely no heat as she pulls Hayner to his feet.

“Er, guys. It’s doing something.” Pence’s quavering voice washes across them, causing Xion to look up.

The heartless is crouching down against one of the hands of the clockface, clearly gathering power for another attack. An attack that Xion is afraid to admit she recognises.

“Get back! Go and get Roxas and don’t let anyone else come here!”

“We can he-” Hayner stops talking when Xion turns to glare at him.

“We’ll find Roxas,” Olette finishes instead as she grabs Hayner by the ear and pulls him away from the fight.

“Sorry about that, stay safe!” Pence adds as he follows his friends.

Xion doesn’t have time to watch them leave, but Hayner’s slowly fading groans as Pence and Olette lecture him are a pretty good indicator that they’re clearing the danger zone.

One crisis averted, Xion starts searching through her items, looking for the ether she knew she put in there earlier, but as always seems to be the case when she really needs something, she can’t find it.

Building light in the corner of her eye distracts her from her search. Looking up she can see the heartless extending its hands, manipulating the circle of flame that pulses around it like a living thing. It’s a pale imitation of the infernos she’s seen Lea cast, the blaze is dull and instead of dancing through the air like so many fallen leaves the flames seem merely to shudder, as if forced to move by an unskilled hand.

That being said, it’s still a powerful attack. She can feel the heat from here, washing over her skin in waves as it builds in strength with each revolution, almost mimicking the mechanical movements of the clockface the heartless stands on. Though, not for much longer.

The metal hands of the clockface have begun to distort, warping and bending under the intensity of the flames. The glass face of the clock is screaming as long cracks run across it surface, exposing stilted gears that refuse to turn.

It’s just more evidence that Xion really needs that ether.

Her hands clasp cool glass just as the clockface shatters, dusk stained glass falls like rain as the heartless leaps from its perch. She can feel its gaze lock on her even as red flames obscure her vision.

Without hesitation she smashes the ether and sighs in relief as her magic once again responds to her call. A reflegra spell is on the tip of her tongue just as the heartless prepares to attack her, the bells on its miniature tower ringing wildly as the firestorm rages.

The spell dies on her lips at the sight of Isa, claymore in hand, leaping from the top of the tower towards the heartless.

His blade slams into the heartless’ unguarded back sending it towards the earth with a rending crack. Smoke rises from the small crater and Xion has no choice but to raise a hand to cover her mouth as dirt, dust, and soot fills the air.

The soft thump beside her announces Isa’s landing but she’s too busy trying to see whether the heartless survived to turn and acknowledge him.

It’s quiet, so quiet that she can hear the tinkle of shattered glass beneath her feet as she edges slowly towards the smouldering precipice of the crater. Her Keyblade is drawn, held up in a guard.

“Careful.” Isa’s voice cuts through the silence even though he barely whispers and Xion can’t help but be proud of the fact that she didn’t jump.

Stopping, inches from the mouth of the crater, she looks down into the open maw. There’s nothing to see, nothing to hear, only the choking smell of molten glass and melted metal taints the air around her.

“I think you got it.” Xion sighs in relief after a moment as the smog finally begins to settle.

Isa doesn’t look convinced; he even takes a few steps forward as if to check for himself. Suppressing her rising frustration at Isa’s stubborn muteness, she moves to step down into the crater, hoping that with its defeat whatever the heartless stole from Lea—hah, she got it right that time—will have been left behind.

The mournful toll of a broken bell saves her.

Rolling forward, she feels the fira burn the empty space above her back and then she’s falling, sliding uncontrollably to the base of the pit where the heartless is no doubt waiting for her.

Before she can even begin to scramble for purchase her ungainly descent comes to an abrupt and almost painful stop as her face collides with something cold and hard.

Clasping her nose, she tries to blink away the tears that now cloud her vision as she pulls back from the surface before her. The hard surface that reveals itself as Isa’s claymore.

“Stay down!” The words come as a heavy body presses her down against the hulking weapon lodged into the ground before her.

“What are you doi-” her unfinished question is answered when fire sweeps around them, parted only by the claymore anchored against the sudden onslaught. Isa presses closer, shielding her as the ripping tide of fire grows stronger.

It passes, slowly, but still the bells toll on.

Isa stands, grasping his weapon with both hands as he gasps for air, sweat beading across his exposed skin leaving light trails in the dark soot that covers every inch of him.

Seeing him like this Xion can clearly imagine what she herself looks like.

“What now?” She breathes out the question, not expecting a reply.

“We need to find a way to limit its range of attacks, otherwise I can’t get close.” Xion blinks at that, shocked that she actually got an answer.

She looks up to see him staring at her, as though waiting for a response, but she can’t say anything.

She snaps out of whatever stupor his uncharacteristic and sudden ability to actually communicate has thrown her into when he rolls his eyes and sighs.

He’s walking past her when she snags his sleeve. “Wait! Wait! I’m listening! What do you need?”

“To get close.” He states as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world, which, it is but…

“How?” she asks.

* * *

It may have been the shifting light across his closed eyes that initially pulls Axel back towards the realm of waking, but it’s the pebble jammed right between his shoulder blades that keeps him there.

He didn’t want to move, hell he didn’t even want to open his eyes, but the tiny rock is digging right into his spine, so even the softest breath is enough to send a jabbing pain all along the length of his back. He tries shifting first, hoping that the subtle movement will dislodge the stone enough for him to go back to ignoring it and slip once more into the warm embrace of slumber.

Of course, all that does is cause the pebble to dig sharply into a sensitive nerve.

He bolts up, only to slump back down immediately as real pain sets alight every nerve he possesses. The small gasp that escapes him feels wet and soon enough the first hints of stale blood begin to coat the back of his throat, so thick he can already taste it. He coughs, once then twice and suddenly he can’t breathe. Turning on his side, disregarding the line of wildfire that ignites along his ribs, he chokes for a brief second before his airway suddenly clears.

Taking in deep drafts of air he blinks his eyes open and immediately his vision is drawn to the dark red splotches that paint the floor in front of him. The sight of it causes Axel to gingerly raise his hand, brushing shaking fingers lightly across his lips he looks without seeing the dark red liquid that now coats his skin.

“What’d I do wrong this time?”

Concentrating despite the haze that clouds his mind he goes to summon a hi-potion but nothing comes to hand.

“Tch, I must really be in the doghouse if they’ve confiscated my items.” He can’t help but wince as he lowers his arm and eases his way back under the covers. “At least they didn’t turn me into a Dusk.”

He tries to go back to sleep, knowing that eventually Saix will remember what pity feels like, or the missions will pile up so high they have no choice but to heal him and throw him back into the fray. It’s a delicate balance, walking the thin line between being useful and being a wise cracking annoyance, but he pulls it off…well, most of the time.

This seems to be one of the rare occasions where he’s been caught out. He blames Demyx, the lazy Nobody probably ratted on him just to get out of a mission.

Even with his thoughts still running a mile a minute sleep is about to reclaim him; he can feel it descending over his mind like a setting sun. Instead of fighting it, he welcomes it, knowing that sleep will provide a refuge from the pain he can feel smouldering along the edge of his senses.

The sharp sound of a zip derails his peaceful dive into the sweet release of nothing and abruptly throws him back to full awareness.

He winces as the light streaming from the entrance flits across his eyes again, blinding him briefly as white spots dance across his vision. Moving to raise an arm in order to block it out, Axel only succeeds in wrenching a brittle gasp of agony from his own lips.

“You’re awake!” A too loud voice state’s from somewhere above him.

For future reference, in Axel’s defence the teen’s face had been really close.

Awake now, remembering that this place definitely is not The World That Never Was, Axel does what comes to him as naturally as breathing.

He hurls fire.

Miraculously the kid dodges the near point-blank fire to the face. The roof of the tent however goes up like dry tinder.

Stumbling to his feet, all pain forgotten in the rush that comes with adrenaline, Axel throws himself towards the exit, rolling as he hits the hard ground. The light generated by his flames means he’s blinking back tears as he tries to get his bearings, but it doesn’t stop him looking for an escape.

He can’t summon a corridor of darkness, not here where there’s witnesses. Axel’s pretty sure the little stunt in Twilight Town that kicked this whole mess off has already been noticed. Xemnas likes to keep an eye on the worlds they frequent the most and Twilight Town’s one of the closest worlds to the World That Never Was.

He really will end up as a Dusk if he unveils his powers again.

With that thought in mind he makes a break for the tree line he can see lying just beyond the edge of the stony outcrop he’s found himself on.

His feet are just about to touch down on the soft blades of grass when blue sparks of energy suddenly manifest into a solid form of a human body.

“Gah, what the hell!” Axel spits out as he falls back, landing heavily against unforgiving rock. His sight blurs as a rolling sense of vertigo overtakes him when the world suddenly decides to speed up.

He’s barely aware of the voices above him and only starts to focus again when a hand enters his field of vision.

“You okay?”

Tracing the arm the hand is attached to he’s met with spiked black hair and deep blue eyes.

Eyes the same colour as that boys.

“You can’t be here,” the words escape him as a breathless whisper, but that doesn’t make them any less true. “This isn’t real!”

Heat rushes through him, not the comforting familiar heat of his own flames, but the oppressive warmth that comes with rising panic.

The mirage is still talking, moving slowly towards him, but the worlds spinning faster, and Axel can’t take it.

“This can’t be real!” He roars the denial with all the conviction he has left as he lunges, aiming to dispel the phantom.

A disorienting clang makes the world go black once more. Axel can only be thankful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I really am having fun with this series and plan to continue updating monthly. I'll let you know if that changes


	5. Teamwork! Sort of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Axel's out for the count, the Chocobro's are confused but dealing with it, and Isa confront's his greatest enemy...the prospect of teamwork

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to take a moment to say a huge thanks for all the comments and kudos! They really do make my day. Once again huge shout out to ScribeOfRemedy for catching all my mistakes.

Smoke still hangs in the air, almost lethargic in the way it curls across the glyphs that mark the Haven’s perimeter, but soon enough it’s dissipating upon the light breeze that trails along the exposed rock.

Prompto tries to keep his gaze on the smoke for as long as he can. It really is pretty, especially with the way the light filters through the small dense whirls that cling to the sheltered edges of the boulders surrounding their camp. He wishes he could snag his camera from the armiger, but his hands are kind of full, also they’re shaking more than a little…okay, they’re shaking a lot.

“Prompto.” The quiet call of his name ricochets off his strained nerves, nearly making him drop the frying pan he still clasps in a death grip. It had been the first thing to come to hand when he barely managed to dodge the fireball to the face—had that really happened? He looks again at the clearing smoke, crumbling ashes, burnt out tent, and prone red head on the ground…yep that happened.

“Prompto.” His name is called a little louder this time as Noct’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder; he can hear the worry seeping into his friend’s tone. No, nope, nu-uh, can’t have that.

The clanging of the ruined pan hitting the stone has him wincing with how loud it is against the quiet backdrop of strained silence. A silence that he has to break because it’s just too tense.

“H-he threw fire. He literally just threw fire. Right at my face!”

“Yeah,” Noct says a little breathlessly, his eyes darting between the red headed teen and Prompto. He looks as though he’s about to say something but then a small quizzical wrinkle wedges itself between his brow.

“Prompto…I think you’re missing an eyebrow.”

“I am?” He cringes horribly at how high pitched his voice sounds but the expression is hidden by his own hands coming up to search his face. Soot and dry skin meet his roaming touch, followed by the crisp feel of burnt hair. He panics, is it just the eyebrow or is his perfectly styled hair—that totally does not look like a chocobo’s butt—gone too? His hand leaps for his bangs; they feel dry to the touch, brittle, but they’re still there.

“Your hairs fine,” Noct confirms for him, “but are you?”

“Me?” Had he slipped up? Had he let too much show? Prompto has to physically stop himself from clutching the tattoo that lays hidden beneath the leather on his wrist. Curling his fingers in the soft material of his shirt he tries to stop the trembling that has seized his hands, as he wills himself to meet Noct’s gaze.

“Yeah. Sure. Never better but…errr how’s he?” Prompto nods towards the unconscious pyromaniac, “I didn’t hit him too hard, did I?”

They both turn to Ignis whose knelt beside the teen…the already injured teen…who had looked terrified from the brief glimpse Prompto got of him before fire had taken up all of his vision.

“Well, if he didn’t have a concussion before he woke up, he certainly will have one now.” Ignis sounds exasperated, he hates it when Ignis sounds exasperated.

“I’m sorry!” The words are blurted out as he makes his way to the boy’s side, cautiously, “it’s just…all I saw was him go for Noct and-”

“You did the right thing, Prompto.” The words are soft spoken, but they cut through the beginning of what was probably going to be a long rambling rant—that was definitely not a panic attack—easily. “Your method was efficient…albeit a little blunt.”

“Where did you even learn to do that?” Noct asks. “You hate close combat.”

Not true, his close combat and edged weapons training folders just have a lot of official looking big red warning labels stamped all over them.

“Dude, he was coming at you with fire in his hands.” He gestures wildly, sweeping an arm across the soot smeared and ash stained campsite, “look what he did to the tent!” Prompto knows he’s deflecting…poorly. He’s pretty sure he’s pointed out the fact that the guy threw fire every time he’s opened his mouth; in his defence he’s only ever seen the Kingsglaive do it and he’s never been a target.

“Whoa! Okay, Prompto I get it,” Noct tries to sooth, his eyes softening with concern as he tracks Prompto’s restless pacing…wait, when did he start pacing? He forces himself to stop, to take a deep breath even though it chokes him. He can’t let Noct worry…some Crownsguard he is.

Chuckling nervously, he covers his eyes taking one last breath to steady his nerves, he has to salvage this mess.

“I jus-”

The sound of fast approaching footsteps scrambling up the incline of the Haven barrels over his half-formed excuse.

“What happened? I saw the smoke.” Gladio doesn’t even sound out of breath as he finally appears at the edge of their camp. Which is impressive even for him, considering that he must have run all the way back here from where he’d been scouting—searching for signs of battle, or evidence of a Daemon attack, anything that could explain how fire guy ended up in such a state.

“Gladio, a hand if you will,” Ignis calls from where he’s levering the kid onto his back. Without the smoke and in the clear light of day, the boy’s injuries stand out in sharp relief against his pale skin, but that’s not what draws Prompto’s attention. No, it’s how young the teen is.

Beneath the raw skin and layered bandages hides an innocence that looks startlingly young. In sleep, features that would one day be sharp still held the faintest roundness of childhood.

He’s just a kid.

“Is he even old enough to be a Kingsglaive?” Prompto bites his lip as soon as the words leave his mouth, but from the shadow that seems to sweep across the camp, it’s a question they were all asking themselves.

“A trainee perhaps?” Ignis supplies after a brief moment of uncomfortable silence.

“Is that how he knew me?” Noct asks curiously. He tries to get a better look at the kids face, but there’s no recognition in his gaze. Why would there be, apart from Captain Drautus—that traitor—Noct hasn’t had much interaction with the Glaive and for years now Noct’s been kept away from the vultures that make up Insomnia’s news media. The wedding ceremony in Altissa would have been his first public appearance in front of camera’s since he was sixteen.

“It might not have been you he recognised,” Gladio suggests, his brows drawn into a deep frown. “…Before the fall; when the Glaive were taking heavy losses on the front…he might have lost someone who looks like you.” He hesitates as they all take that in, “…Or he could have been in Insomnia.”

It’s a topic that they’ve all been trying to avoid bringing up for weeks now. It’s become a sort of unspoken rule between them, one that started off so simply: a cut off sentence here, a laden silence there, distractions in the form of fishing, photo ops, hunts, and new recipes. It’s a system that’s worked, but Gladio’s always been the realist; the behemoth headed realist who likes to face the hard choices in life head on.

“If that is the case,” Iggy says as he adjusts his glasses, shielding his eyes with the flare of light that streaks across his frames, “then our next course of action is clear.”

“It is?” Prompto asks.

“Cor?” Noct asks almost at the same time.

“Indeed,” Iggy confirms, “the Marshal will have the most information on those Glaive that remain. Still, in the meantime it wouldn’t hurt to gather as much information as we can ourselves.”

When Iggy says this, they all turn back to Gladio.

“I didn’t find much evidence of anything where you found him, let alone a fight. The only tracks are the ones we left, which is strange.”

“Could he have warped there from a distance?” Noct asks, looking thoughtful in that lazy way of his.

Gladio shakes his head, “don’t think so. I did a circuit around the whole area, went as far as you can warp when you’re pushing yourself. There was nothing.”

It’s clear that this is bothering Gladio, he’s starting to get that bulette with a bad head look he gets whenever something isn’t sitting well with him.

Even so, Prompto can’t ignore one fact, “errr, shouldn’t we move him?” He points to the boy whose been laid out on the cold and probably uncomfortable stone the whole time they’ve been talking. Sure, he’s out of it, but a rock mattress can’t be good for his back.

“Not with that head injury,” Iggy remarks, but even as he says this, he moves the unconscious arsonist into a recovery position.

Instantly, Prompto’s back to feeling guilty. He’s the one that woke the kid up in the first place, unintentionally yeah, but he’d still done it.

The others continue to talk, working out how they’re going to explain this to Cor—won’t that be fun—and planning on how they’re going to get to Cape Caem.

Prompto just stares quietly while his brain unhelpfully scrambles through all that he can remember about concussions, from that intensive first aid course that was part of his Crownsguard training.

For some reason his thoughts get snagged on the fact that it’s best to keep the casualty warm. With this in mind he reaches into his space in the armiger and pulls out a bright yellow blanket. It’s only when he’s got Iggy’s attention and he’s offering the blanket that he remembers that the advice was for somebody suffering from shock.

He tries to pull the blanket back without Noct or Gladio noticing, but Ignis has already snagged the trailing corner that had been swept up by a traitorous breeze.

“Well remembered Prompto, at least someone recalls basic first aid.” Iggy’s tone is light but there’s a baiting edge, one that Noct predictably falls for.

“What, I paid attention,” Noct defends as Gladio rolls his eyes.

“You call using a pile of spare bandage rolls as a makeshift pillow paying attention?” Gladio ribs as Ignis takes the blanket and tucks it securely around the kid.

“Well…wait, is that a chocobo Jo blanket?”

It’s Prompto’s turn to be defensive.

“Yeah, so?” He’d had it since before he could remember.

“So, if I’d known you’d had it I would have been borrowing it for the back of the car,” Noct says, his voice light and joking but there’s a gleam in his eyes that lets Prompto know he’s half serious.

“Don’t even try it,” Gladio grunts as he adjusts the blanket over the teens shoulder. “It’s hard enough waking you up when you take a nap in the back of the Regalia, I don’t need you using this as a shield.”

Prompto can’t help the look of horror that morphs his face. “Dude, please don’t! I’ve seen what you do to Noct’s pillow shields.”

“Wouldn’t have to mangle them if he’d actually get up when he’s supposed to.” The casualness with which Gladio says this speaks nothing of the feathered carnage that was the wreckage of all Noct’s former pillow shields.

“I’m not getting my precious fuzzy chocobo blanket back in one piece…am I?”

Everyone chooses that moment to go and find something productive to do while they wait for the little pyromaniac to wake up.

* * *

Teamwork has never been his strong suit.

It’s a fact that’s been pointed out to him many times in his life, by idiots that didn’t understand that to have good teamwork they first had to be strong enough to keep up.

What is the point of weaklings banding together to take on a challenge? In the end all you got was more dead weaklings.

It’s one of the reasons he’d worked so hard when he’d first joined the Organization. Yes, for most of his first missions he had been teamed up with Axel, who thankfully understands the best method of teamwork involves not getting in each other’s way—also known as the _you take that side and I’ll take this side_ tactic.

Unfortunately, others are not well versed in this approach, and are unable to pick up his clear indications that he neither wants nor needs them in his space when he’s decimating a target.

If he needs help—a rare occurrence that only really happens when others don’t use common sense—it should be given at a distance, so he doesn’t have to waste time worrying about his so-called teammate getting swept up in a combo.

Now, he is being stared down by a girl half his size, who is demanding that he work with her. Difficult, considering that the only time they have ever truly fought together is during the clash between the seven lights and thirteen darkness’s, when they were both compromised—brainwashed, possessed, used as a human meat suit by an insane old man—and had to fight their friends.

He's actually rather impressed.

That doesn’t stop him from pointing out one rather obvious fact.

“There’s not the time.”

As if to emphasize his point another magically enforced blaze of flame slams into his claymore, rattling the bones in his tightly clasped hands. The blast is less intense than the flurry of flames that Lea commands when he is serious, but the feral abandon with which the heartless wields them makes up for that.

He’s so focused on bracing his weapon as a shield against the onslaught, that he nearly misses the bright flash of mirrored light that sparks at the end of Xion’s Keyblade. The magic explodes into a dome of framed light around them, dulling the roar and the heat of the fire.

“Now we have time.” Xion’s voice echoes against the crystal shield as the refracted light of spilling flames dances across its surface.

Isa blinks, momentarily blinded by the array of light that surrounds him, but his vision adjusts quickly, allowing him to see the look of stubborn determination that now paints Xion’s features. It’s not a look she’s ever fixed on him, but he’s seen the effect—and consequences—that it’s had on Lea and Roxas. Having it directed at him now he can’t see what all the fuss was about; her hardened gaze and thinned mouth just makes him want to pull her cheeks until her face returns to normal.

Of course, he doesn’t do that. Instead he flicks her in the forehead.

Her stern look instantly shatters as she yelps in surprise and takes a step back.

It’s space he needed, since the fight began he’s been breathing nothing but stale air tainted with acrid smoke.

The haze that he hadn’t noticed creeping along the edge of his perception becomes slightly clearer with each deep lung-full of clean air. It allows him to think clearly for the first time in what feels like hours. That’s when the idea strikes, he’s never been good at teamwork, never will be, but giving orders…

“How long can you maintain this barrier?”


	6. Reflexion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where in there is once again more fire thanks to a Clockwork Heartless that's hopped up on Lea's magic and memories and Axel dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once again to ScribeOfRemedy for smoothing over my mistakes!  
Also a warning and a suggestion.  
The warning: You may want t have tissues for the second half of this chapter.  
The suggestion: Roxas' theme is a very nice accompaniment to the second half.  
Right, that's all from me, enjoy!

The pavement blurs past him in the many shades of sun drenched and shadowed sandstone, as Roxas runs up the hill leading to the Clocktower. He can still see the smoke rising above the rooftops before him, and now that he’s closer he can hear the tell-tale sounds of battle echoing down the corridor of buildings.

That’s not all he can hear though.

“-ould have helped!” a familiar voice cries as he rounds another corner.

“Yeah, by being a human fire shield or, at best, a moving target.” Another voice replies, their tone strained with obvious effort but still teasing.

“Would you two give it a rest already, we need to find Roxas!” The last voice of the trio shouts as they finally come into view. They all look a little worse for wear, but Hayner definitely stands out with his new half drowned half barbecued rat impersonation.

“I’m here!” he calls to them as he sprints across the remaining distance between them.

“Roxas,” Olette looks so relieved at the sight of him, “Xion and Isa are just up ahead!” She shifts to the side, dragging Hayner and Pence with her, leaving the path clear. He nods as he sprints past but doesn’t slow, not until a wall of smoke rises above and rolls over him.

Tears spring to his eyes as he chokes on the foul air, the burn of ash sliding down his throat with each stuttered inhale, making it harder and harder to breathe, making it harder to think. The smell alone is nauseating, but the thought of his friends pushes him forward.

When he breaks through the wall of smoke, he is greeted with the sight of a devastated clocktower and a station hill ravaged by flame.

“Xion! Isa!” He calls out to them as he navigates the field of melted glass, molten rock, and the smouldering crater in the centre of the square, but there’s no reply.

The hilltop is empty and eerily quiet; Roxas cannot suppress the growing sense of wrongness that’s curling in the pit of his gut. It brings back bad memories, frozen scenes of glitching pixels, static of memories that aren’t quite his, unseen trains, and doubt, so much doubt.

Shaking his head, he almost has to bite his tongue to stop himself from calling out the wrong names.

“Xion! Is—”

He feels the heat on his back before the sound even reaches him, the roar of unfettered flames loosed without control or real purpose.

Oathkeeper materialises as he reels forward, bars of light already rising to his defence as he gathers his feet beneath him and brings up the blade as a shield.

“Move!” The growl of a command has him leaping back on reflex, but apparently not far enough. The muscled arm that circles his chest leaves him with a breathless sensation of disorientation, as his legs are swept from underneath him and his sense of balance flees.

He keeps his grip on Oathkeeper even as he’s thrown—yes, thrown, not unlike how Isa likes to throw his Claymores—clear of the blast zone. Which lives up to its name as his own light attack and the fire still being herded towards them collide.

Blinking dazedly, he tries to stand only to dive for the floor again as more fire—correction, a ring of fire that’s either sentient or has homing abilities, comes flying at his head.

He hates this heartless!

He doesn’t have time to consider any other thoughts because the ring of fire just condensed itself into a sphere of shadow tinged flames that looks as though it’s about to explode.

Not wanting to be hit by that—he’s been set on fire before, not a fan—he grasps Oathkeeper in a loose hold, allowing his fingers to relax as he brings the blade back, before letting it fly. Light sheathes the Keyblade as it soars through the air, cleaving the flames even as they continue to gather before dispelling the last wisps on a breath of guttering sparks.

Even as this happens, he’s moving, mindful of the person at his back as their steps shadow his own. He’ll admit they’re slightly out of sync; unused as they are to each other’s footwork in the heat of battle, but it’s workable. As proven, when the heavy metal of the Claymore shields him from the swipe of fire lit claws and Oblivion in turn extinguishes the roaring flames that snatch and bite at Isa’s heels.

“Where’s Xion?” The question is gasped out on a quick breath as he continues to defend.

“You’ll find out soon enough.” How Isa manages to hold an edge of rounded calmness in his tone, even as he bats aside a blazing miniature clocktower that’s been thrown like a missile, Roxas will never know.

True to Isa’s word Roxas soon spots Xion, through sheer chance more than anything. As he deflects a guttering spurt of flame, that would have been an infernal whirlwind had Axel—Lea! Dammit—been the one wielding it. The light of his attack reflects across the blade of her Kingdom Key, like sunlight across silver fish scales, catching his eye.

She’s running along the wall of one of the buildings that marks the edge of the square, taunting gravity. Her eyes trained upon the heartless whose own gaze is fixed unblinkingly upon Roxas and Isa. The same heartless that seems to be gearing up for a large-scale assault if the wrecking ball sized flame above its head is anything to go by.

“Now.” Isa’s order is loud in the looming quiet of building power and Xion doesn’t hesitate.

The sight of the Clocktower Heartless bathed in the radiating glow of its stolen flames is suddenly obscured. Panels of crystalline light rise up, encircling and enclosing the heartless, distorting its image until all Roxas can see is the blur of colour and the flash of flame.

“Reflegra?” Roxas has to question it because he’s never seen it used like this, cast around the opponent instead of yourself or an ally.

“Just watch.” In that moment Roxas is not ashamed to admit that he is too afraid to look at Isa. He knows that tone of voice, is very familiar with the fierce edge that defines the savage joy hidden just below the surface of his placid expression.

So, he focuses on the dome of light; the colours swirl and the light grows as Xion’s and the heartless’ power clash. Red and gold battle with radiant light and soon enough Roxas is having to turn away his gaze; it’s moments like this when he misses his Organization coat, more specifically the trademark hood that protected his eyes with the comforting darkness of safe shadows.

The light fades, dimming as the Reflegra spell seems to contract. It’s only then that Roxas notices that the flames have touched the inside of the barrier of light.

“Get down!” He’s barely tangled his fingers in the back of Isa’s jacket and used the other to quickly cast his own Reflera—spells have never been his go to and when they are he’s more inclined to take Ax-Lea’s approach and just burn everything that’s attacking him—over himself and Isa.

It’s not enough.

The energy flares and with the sound of shattering glass his barrier cracks then crumbles. He’s flung back but he manages to catch his balance, until Isa is thrown into him. One second he’s bracing against the shockwave, the next he’s on the floor. Isa on top of him with what looks like a very singed Clocktower heartless, that’s still either wielding fire or is on fire itself bearing down on them. It’s hard to tell with the mess of knotted blue hair all but smothering him.

One thing is clear though, Isa’s going to dodge and Roxas won’t have time to put up even a weak guard.

This is going to hurt.

It does, there’s pressure and heat and he can feel the broken glass beneath him digging into his back, sharp angles drawing blood as he’s pressed into the ground, but Isa’s still there.

He didn’t move.

His claymore is held steady, braced against his forearm as he pushes back, muscles corded and straining against the writhing heartless, but he can’t get any leverage.

Roxas tries to move, to squirm free so he can do something. Isa’s trying to give him the room, grappling with the livid heartless intent on ripping his heart out, but they’re stuck.

“Blizzaga!” Frost bitten winds and chill blue mist engulf Roxas’ senses, freezing the very breath in his lungs, but the weight is gone. He rolls and the soundtrack of tinkling glass that accompanies his movement is overshadowed by the glacial crack that sounds behind him.

Looking back his eyes are immediately drawn to the trembling ice sculpture that the heartless has become. It lays there, eyes roaming like two lanterns bobbing in the distance on a darkened night, the rest of its body frozen solid.

Xion stands behind it, her Keyblade still outstretched, frost clinging to the teeth of the blade.

“Are you okay?” The question is directed at both he and Isa.

All he can do is give a jerky nod as he fishes out a potion, breaking the glass with a sure grip and sighing with unrepentant relief, as he feels the myriad of small cuts that map his back knit back into smooth skin.

Isa doesn’t give an answer, his focus is solidly fixed upon the trapped heartless and even from this angle Roxas can see that his eyes are beginning to glow with the first traces of Berserker rage.

With a sharp twist blades form at the head of Isa’s claymore, the moon glow that overtakes the metal dyes it in an aura of grim and brutal finality.

The blade comes down, casting light, shadow, and vengeance as the Clockwork Heartless is cleaved in two. The ice helps it hold its form for just a second longer, until dark tendrils and spindling flames disperse like steam, leaving nothing but a small glowing item in their wake.

Roxas moves forward. The item is wreathed in warm flames, not the violent red that the heartless wielded but countless soft crimson shades, like a sunset. Cautiously he picks it up, ready to drop it at the first sign of danger.

Nothing happens, he can’t even really touch it, suspended as it is in an orb of light, but it rests in his open palm: a necklace in the shape of one of Lea’s chakrams adorned in fire.

He should have guessed Axel’s memories would manifest like this…

Dammit! Lea, he meant Lea!

* * *

Axel knows he’s unconscious.

He has to be, otherwise there’s no way he would be in this place.

White pillars towering above him.

Statues looming tall and proud.

Sand beneath his boots.

Closing his eyes he wills the dream away, begs for the images of this world to fade back into his memory. He knows what he did here, knows what he’ll see if he allows the dream to play out and even though he’s a Nobody, even though he doesn’t have a heart to feel the sadness, the guilt, the regret, the self-loathing, he still remembers what those emotions should feel like and it’s too much.

A breath, stuttering and slow, he needs to focus. If he allows himself to get drawn into this he’ll soon be swept up in the nightmare, unable to escape until he’s inevitably dragged back to wakefulness by Saix roughly shaking his shoulder.

The sound of rushed footsteps behind him is the first sign that he’s running out of time.

He needs to think about something else, anything else or Saix might follow through with that promise to wake him up by throwing the used mop bucket over him.

Saix, his mind latches onto that name and he can feel the dreamscape changing around him as the foreboding footsteps from before fade.

Daring to open one eye he’s met with the sight of a completely different scene. Dim light from a barrier cast over a reinforced door barely illuminates the small, grey walled prison.

He’s in his own body—well, his old body at least, the one he had when he actually existed. It’s easy to tell this, what with the way he can feel his shorter hair tickling against his neck and the itch of his blood-soaked scarf against his skin. He feels the need to scratch it, to pick at the scabs he remembers being dug into his neck, hidden beneath the scarf, but his hand doesn’t even twitch at the thought.

So, it’s one of those dreams where he never seems to have any control, where he’s trapped, held hostage as the scene plays out. Unable to influence it in any way. He never gets used to that…he still prefers it to the alternative.

As if on cue the barrier over the tiny cell door dispels and his head snaps towards it without his consent.

He watches as his body lurches forward towards the limp form that is unceremoniously tossed into the dark cell. His past self is barely able to catch the falling body of his friend, hurt as he is.

He watches as his arms move without his say so to cradle Isa’s head against his chest, before gently guiding his exhausted companion to rest against the unforgiving steel floor.

“Isa?” His own voice speaks barely above a choked whisper.

Axel knows what’s coming next, he should with the amount of times this same memory has played out in his nightmares.

Still, there’s always some new detail to take note of.

This time, it’s the sensation of long dried blood flaking beneath the pads of his fingertips as he turns Isa’s face toward the limited light within their jail.

He feels his breath catch in his throat the moment his doppelganger gets a clear look at Isa’s condition. His friend is pale and cold, a fact made all the more noticeable by the way both fresh and dried blood stand out in stark contrast against his skin. There’s evidence of fresh wounds, most of which Axel knows will scar, but none are worse than the still bleeding slash that mars his friends’ brow.

Over the months Axel’s gotten used to seeing the cross shaped scar he knows this wound shall become, but the shell of his former self hasn’t. Nothing speaks louder of this fact than the tears he can feel trailing down his face.

His counterpart raises a hand to wipe them away even as he reaches for his bloodstained scarf. In what had become morbid routine, he uses what little of the original yellow and black fabric remains to try and staunch the blood.

Isa jolts in his hold the second the frayed fabric touches his brow. Weak fingers latch onto Axel’s wrist as his friend struggles to make glazed and exhaustion laden eyes open.

“…Lea?” Isa’s voice is dead; it makes Axel remember the dark anger and frustrated sadness he had felt at that time. He wants to strike out, to hurt those who hurt his friend, but this is a dream and back then he was powerless.

“I got you Isa,” Axel hears his old voice sooth.

“Isa? Is that my name?” He sounds so confused, so disbelieving.

“Wow, they really did a number on you this time.” The words have to fight their way past the onslaught of fresh tears and they almost fail.

His double tries again to wipe away the tears, but Axel already knows he only succeeds in smearing fresh soot and ash across his face. His hands are still stained with it from the amount of fire he had thrown at the barrier the moment they’d taken Isa that day.

“You’re crying again,” Isa observes as his eyes gain a little more focus.

“Wow, what was your first clue.” Axel almost cringes as he listens to the weight of emotion held within his voice. Second-hand embarrassment is something that he definitely didn’t need a heart to experience.

Isa reaches up a hand to catch one of the falling droplets, showing it to his friend as he dazedly watches it settle in his palm.

Axel feels sharp teeth worrying against his bottom lip as the second-hand irritation builds in his chest.

“Damn it! They won’t stop!”

Isa starts to move in his hold, but his past self—Lea—is so caught up in trying to kerb his tears that he doesn’t notice. Not until Isa’s fingers come to rest just below his eyes.

“Isa, what are you doing?”

“Just hold still,” is the quiet reply.

Axel already knows what Isa is doing—what he did—but Lea doesn’t. He sits still, trying not to blink as trembling hands slide close to his eyes.

It takes a few minutes but eventually Isa seems satisfied, that or his usual pursuit of perfection had been overridden by the fatigue and pain.

“Can’t cry now, you’ll wash them away,” Isa explains as he settles back down, his movements slow and careful.

“What are you t-” Lea goes to raise a hand to his face, as though to trace the paths drawn into his skin, but Isa weakly bats his elbow.   
“It’s the charm she taught us, remember?” Isa’s eyes are closed now but his voice sounds stronger. “You looked like you needed them.”

Lea goes still and Axel can’t quite remember what emotion he was feeling at that moment. He thinks it was an important, if a painful one.

Isa whispers one last thing before he drifts into a restless sleep, in answer to Lea’s silence. “So, you can’t cry, you’ll make her a liar.”

Axel wants to laugh, but all he can do is watch as the body he’s trapped in follows the script his memory has written for it.

So, he takes the time to memorise what it was like when he used to be able to cry with real emotion.


	7. A Breaking Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silence can sometimes break you.

It’s always the sudden silence at the end of a battle that unnerves her the most. Not the fight itself nor the enemies she faces, but the fragmented calm after the final blow has been struck and the grim stillness that follows.

Usually the anxiety it causes to stir at the back of her mind like a nest of snakes is repressed, overridden by the distraction that her friends provide. Axel’s—no Le—she gives up, he’ll always be Axel in her head—fire show and crowing voice as he declares their victory. Roxas’ smug little smile and a warm touch in the form of a nudge or a steady arm wrapped around her shoulder, which is always followed by Axel piling in for a group hug and the suggestion of sea-salt ice-cream to celebrate.

She hasn’t really had time to note any of Isa’s quirks after a battle, apart from that one-time Axel dragged him into a group hug. He had reacted like a soaked cat, spitting, hissing and wriggling in protest as he struggled to get free. He had calmed down eventually and accepted his fate, probably knowing that Axel would refuse to let go until he hugged them back properly. To be fair that wasn’t really a quirk, more like his knee jerk reaction to being forcibly hugged.

This time there’s none of that.

Isa’s nearly bent double, his claymore used as a crutch as he takes a few deep breaths. His eyes are closed, not in pain or in any method of meditation, but in an attempt to hide the yellow glow of the berserker rage that must still possess his eyes. She’s only discovered recently that it’s something he’s very self-conscious about and that’s only because Axel told her.

Roxas, on the other hand, is crouched beside the slowly fading remnants of the clockwork heartless, an item—which is giving off a muted warm glow—cradled in his hand.

It’s something to focus on, something that can distract her, so she snatches onto the threads of curiosity that are drawing her towards Roxas.

She ignores the battlefield. It’s her best tactic, one that’s worked before and one that she will make work again. It doesn’t matter that the ground is littered with glass, the light reflecting through it makes it look too warm so she can’t mistake it for ice.

Even if it did it doesn’t matter anymore, she can wield ice spells without any problems now, to the point where she can hardly feel the creeping chill that clings to her fingers, from where they wrap around the hilt of her blade.

All she has to do is keep focusing on the item in Roxas’ hand, not on Roxas himself, not now. Not when he’s looking so serious, his brow creased in that worried way that causes the shadows of his eyes to look deeper. She doesn’t like seeing that look; it’s not as bad as the one that haunts her, but it reminds her of it.

She just needs to focus, keep her breathing steady and even, and her mind clear.

She manages to take three steps, before the lightest tinkle of shifting glass beneath her feet signals the loss of her hard-won concentration.

Her eyes drift without her permission to look downwards. They slide across the scene of shattered sun coloured glass and cracked stone, until they land on the fractured crystalline form of the slowly melting ice.

There’s a quiet voice in the back of her mind, one that’s whispering that everything is fine, one that reminds her that she summoned the ice and therefore controls it.

She doesn’t hear it, not when its quiet whisper is dragged beneath the crashing waves of her own memories.

The ice isn’t laying on the floor harmlessly, its crawling along her skin, encasing her, stealing all her warmth and slowly freezing her heart. She knows if she looks down she’ll see gentle motes of light rising into the air…she doesn’t want to see them, she doesn’t want any of this. It shouldn’t have ended like this.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on her shoulder.

Blue at the edge of her vision—a warm familiar blue that has nothing to do with the chilling claws of frost digging into her heart—catches her attention.

Isa’s standing next to her, it’s his hand resting on her shoulder.

It doesn’t stay there, the warm weight of it leaves her as Isa walks past without even sparing her a glance.

“Roxas, did you manage to sort transport?” Isa’s voice is serious, grounding.

“Huh?” Pulled so suddenly from his staring contest with the item, Roxas takes a second to answer. “Oh, yeah! Scrooge said he’d lend us his Gummi ship.”

“Scrooge?” Isa asks, suspicion lacing his tone, causing Roxas to rush to his feet.

“It’s not gonna cost us anything, surprisingly,” he defends.

“With that duck there’s always a cost.” Nevertheless, Isa starts walking.

Roxas looks to Xion, smiling and about to say something, but the cheerful expression fades as his gaze roams across her face. “Xion?”

She ducks her head and starts to walk before Roxas can ask the question she can see dancing in his worried eyes. “Let’s go.”

Xion closes in on Isa quickly, he isn’t walking that fast, so she doesn’t even have to jog like she normally would in order to keep pace with his longer stride. Roxas is soon on their heels, she doesn’t dare look at him. He’ll know; as soon as he gets a proper look at her—he’ll know how close she came to breaking—he’s suspicious already.

They don’t need this; they should be focusing on Axel. He could be anywhere, on any world. What if he’s ended up in the Realm of Darkness? Or on the edge of Nothing?

Those swirling thoughts join the tattered maelstrom of anxiety that’s trapped inside her head. She swallows them down, or tries to, but the heavy weight that settles in her chest leaves her feeling sick.

“Xion, are you okay?” Roxas has already caught up and she isn’t even close to being able to lie convincingly.

She tries anyway, “I’m fine.”

Keeping her head down she trains her sight on the path in front of her and prays that Roxas will just believe her.

He doesn’t, of course he doesn’t.

He’s walking right beside her now and she can just feel his worried gaze fracturing and chipping away at every weak shield she’s put up.

He’s going to keep pushing, maybe it would be better if she just came out and said it.

“Roxas, meet us at the Bistro once you’ve dealt with your…friends,” Isa says with a quiet but commanding tone.

Isa doesn’t break stride, he walks straight past the excited trio running up the hill towards them, who wisely give Isa a wide berth.

Xion sees her chance and takes it.

Plastering on a smile she knows is cracking at the edges she turns to Roxas, “I’ll see you there.”

Before he can try and stop her, she’s running down the hill after Isa.

He doesn’t even get the chance to call out to her again as Hayner swamps him.

The sight soon disappears behind her and she takes the time to try and bury the leaden guilt that’s settled in her belly.

Tram Common opens up before her as she rounds the last corner of Station Hill. The long shadows play out across the clean yet buzzing streets, providing much needed shade and respite after a tiring day of hard work for the various citizens of Twilight Town.

It’s not quite what she’d call crowded, but the narrow spaces created by the groups of people loitering around the square leaves her feeling boxed in.

Spotting Isa she can’t help but notice the path of parted people he leaves in his wake. Without hesitation, she dives for the gap before it can close. It saves her having to dodge and weave through the crowd, allowing her to focus on her breathing and slowly try to work out the tight band of pressure that’s squeezing her chest.

The walk across the common is too short, before Xion realises it they’re already standing before the stairs that mark the perimeter of the Bistro’s terrace. The soft light melting through the café’s windows projects a warm ambiance across the many tables littering the shaded patio. It’s meant to put customers at ease, to be inviting and relaxing, but Xion can’t bring herself to even put a foot on the first step.

She knows she has to move, even Isa is going to notice that something is wrong if she doesn’t hurry up and get it together.

As if that thought tempted fate, Isa sighs.

Xion looks up to find his back’s still turned towards her.

“Isa I’m sorr-”

“Sit,” he interrupts.

“What?”

“Sit down and wait here,” Isa repeats. He still doesn’t turn to face her, not even a glance as he walks away and leaves her standing there, unsure and more nervous than ever.

Unbidden, the memory of Saix’s frigid stare whenever she managed to disappoint him rises to the forefront of her mind.

Stumbling on shaky feet she makes her way down the stairs and snags a seat at the first empty table.

Well, nearly empty.

“Oh goodness, where did you come from?” Merlin asks as he adjusts his hat. Xion has no idea how she missed him, with his bright blue robes and a great silver beard he’s always stood out.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Xion apologises as she makes to stand.

“No, no dear, please sit,” Merlin reassures her as he adjusts the books scattered atop the table. “I’m never one to turn down the opportunity for interesting company. I’m merely surprised to see you alone.”

It’s obviously a leading question disguised as an observation. Xion chooses to look over her shoulder to where Isa is talking to Scrooge instead of answering outright.

“Ah, not quite so alone then,” Merlin notes, as he removes his glasses and quickly polishes them with his beard, “but I assume we still have time for a chat?”

That catches Xion off guard, she’s never had the opportunity to speak with the wizard.

“Now my dear, what eloquence do you possess in the realm of spell weaving? I had Kairi under my tutelage for some time and found that she took to the art like a bird to wing.”

“Oh, err, the basics I guess?”

“Always a good place to start,” Merlin reassures with a smile. “I myself believe a firm mastery of the basics is a must have for any aspiring mage.”

“Mage?” Xion asks curiously.

“Are you not familiar with the term?” Merlin seems a little confused by that, but there’s also a delighted twinkle shining in his eyes. “Well, then allow this old wizard to elaborate.”

Xion doesn’t notice the time passing. She’s drawn in by Merlin’s description of the role of mages, magic, and the versatility with which it can be employed in the field of battle.

The soft and gentle clink of fine china coming to rest upon the hard marble of the table in front of her, disrupts Merlin’s detailed explanation on the benefits of a well-timed ether over the waste of using an elixir.

The chocolate mousse lying temptingly in front of her looks decadent, there’s just one problem.

“I didn’t order this.”

Instead of apologising for his mistake and taking the dessert away like Xion is expecting, the waiter smiles. “The guy over there ordered it for you.”

Turning, Xion sees only Isa still looming over Scrooge’s pint-sized figure. He’s wearing the frown she knows means: You will do as I say this instant or I will take great pleasure in introducing you to the true meaning of suffering. Quite frankly, it surprises her that she can’t smell the delicious scent of roast duck in the air.

She looks back to the waiter to insist there must have been a mix up, but the guys already gone. The thought of standing to chase after him does cross her mind, right until the moment when the first hint of chocolaty sweetness tickles her nose. It’s then that she remembers that she hasn’t eaten since this morning.

Guilt firmly swept to the back of her mind, Xion scoops up a small spoonful of the almost fluffy mousse. The smooth texture that meets her tongue and the sweet bitterness that sweeps across her taste buds leaves her sighing in pure delight.

It’s another three loaded spoonful’s before she can turn her attention fully back to Merlin.

“You were saying about ethers over elixirs?”

Merlin nods, enthusiasm vibrating through his every gesture. “Why yes, you see the expense and rarity of elixirs makes an overreliance on them unfeasible.”

Time passes, and warmth returns to Xion with each spoonful of the sugary delight before her.

* * *

A great sigh escapes Gladio as he rolls up into a half crouch, his form losing some of its ease as he pushes through the cresting discomfort of overworked muscles to stand tall.

He holds the stance for two seconds as he inhales, filling his lungs to the point where he can feel the tendons in his spine stretch against the pressure. Then, posture perfect, feet and shoulders aligned, and back straight, he begins his next set of squats. His arms swing in time with his breathing, keeping a steady rhythm that allows him to ignore the heat pulsing through his legs to the beat of the rapid thump of his own heart.

It’s been a good work out, one that’s left him feeling challenged but not strained. After ten more squats he’ll pace himself through some cool down stretches and that’ll be it for the day.

He snorts, unable to stop himself as the stray thought of how weird a day it’s been flits across his mind. He should have known something was going to go wrong this morning when he’d rolled over to find Noct gone. Sleeping Beauty up on his own before dawn, yeah, there’s an omen of the apocalypse if ever there was one.

Gladio finishes his set and gracelessly slumps to the hard rock of the Haven, ignoring the light tremors that run up and down the length of his legs as he braces himself on his elbows and leans back. He can’t help but turn his face towards the early afternoon sun, allowing the gentle heat to flow over the bare skin of his upper body.

It’s quiet right now, what with Iggy and Noct taking the Regalia to go and fetch some supplies and Prompto curled up in one of the surviving camp chairs. Their…guest, probably what Iggy would call the guy, lays unmoving tucked up inside Prompto’s sleeping bag, his hands still fisted in the Chocobo Jo blanket that’s draped over the top. That makes Gladio sigh, the sight reminds him of Iris, she’s about the same age as the kid and the way he’s currently clinging to the blanket is the same way Iris clings to her Moogle Mog comforter, when she has a nightmare.

This all brings Gladio back to another thought, if this kid is a similar age to Iris how could he sign up for the Kingsglaive? There’s strict rules about enlisting, always has been. So, how did this lanky teen manage to circumvent them?

They’ll have to talk to Cor about this. True he was never in direct command of the Kingsglaive, Insomnia would still have been standing if he had been…Gladio forcefully shakes his head, allowing only a brief but rough growl at that thought.

In need of something else to dwell on, he refocuses on Prompto. The gunman hasn’t made a peep in the last hour; the reason why becomes clear as Gladio bends down to snag his jacket from where he’s left it folded by the chair. Prompto’s soft snores are slightly stilted, their normal cadence thrown off by the way he has his head resting against the back of the chair.

Gladio isn’t surprised, what with being up early and the near cremation it’s no wonder Prompto’s tired. He’ll force a few protein bars down Prompto when he comes to, one of the one’s Iggy made, not the shop bought kind that taste like granite.

He turns to the other sleeping figure. Red messy hair, the top of his face and one pale bandaged arm is about all he can make out, the kids curling up so tight he looks as though he’s trying to make himself as small a target as possible. That, or he’s trying to shield something with his own body.

It just makes Gladio more curious, but there’s no way in Pitioss he’s trying to wake the kid. For one the mushroom cloud he saw earlier tells him how much fire the pyromaniac can hurl. For two, he’s seen what happens when you wake a wounded soldier.

No, best to let him sleep.

* * *

There’s something…

Something that wasn’t there before…

Something that rests upon the edge of his senses…

It’s similar to the power that pollutes his veins, yet different? Yes, different.

It’s almost like an aroma trailing past the edges of his senses, present but shadowed, veiled from his influence…

For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as always my updates are slow but hopefuly the quality is still the same...Not going to lie that's all down to ScribeOfRemedy and her amazing skills as a Beta.
> 
> Hopefully theres enough going on here to keep you guys interested, things will be picking up plot wise soon-YES THERE IS PLOT NOT JUST FLUFF- so I ask for you guys to be patient and please stick with me till the end.  
Thank you

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys liked this, thank you for reading to the end. I do hope to continue this in the future, so please keep an eye out.


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